What's Wild
by Isis1
Summary: A Deuces Wild fic. There is always someone who loves the demon of a man. So why can not a plain, average girl like Maggie Maloney love a monster. Even bastads like Marco Vindetti need someone.
1. Default Chapter

Maggie Maloney stepped up to the curb on the Viper's side of   
the street. She could not quite recall the last time she had been out   
this way - she had lived in this town all of her life, but over the   
last three years, her memory faded.   
  
She glanced from left to right, taking in the tranquil appearing road.   
This one block, she silently lamented, has brought such misery - heartache.   
Instantly, the image of Miss Esther flashed through her mind, bringing back   
a dreaded soft night that she had so wanted to disregard - to wipe it from   
her mind completely. It haunted her - the echo of rain battering concrete   
and road, was mostly all she could heed - and the screeching.   
  
Maggie blinked away the insane filled night terrors of weeping for a   
dead son. From the frigid, stone like window in Jimmy Pockets' apartment   
- she saw - and recalled how Leon Esther stumbled up the street with his   
brother's corpse in his arms. The torment alone, evident in his face was   
just enough to make Maggie short of breath. Nothing could describe what   
she felt when the dull eyes stared blankly up into a starless night sky.   
The young boy's orbs, Allie Boy's, would never behold a virgin day, nor   
would they vask in the glory of the setting sun.   
  
A young boy bumped into her, apologizing quickly - he ran into the   
candy store. This broke her sorrowful thoughts and she told herself   
that the sooner that she bought what she wanted, the quicker she could   
get home. Taking a deep breath, Maggie Maloney walked across the street.   
As she passed the line in the road, she increased her step and the line   
became a translucent shard of glass.   
  
Hesitating momentarily, as she clasped the warm door handle - she   
was going in unaided. Not one body in the candy store was a Viper,   
the gang that everyone knew she had affiliated herself with. Those   
people in there had loyalties that lay elsewhere - the Deuces. The   
Deuces would not understand - value while she lingered with demons.   
  
The door swung open and Maggie ambled in. The door slammed closed,   
much louder than she had hoped it would - she did not want to bring   
any kind of attention to herself. It was too late for that, though   
- all that resided inside had turned their heads - gawking. Paying   
close attention to her shoes, she walked to counter and called the   
clerk's attention. The newly polished counter top gleamed, reflecting   
her nervous countenance and stature.   
  
"Hard toffee - a bag full?" she whispered.   
  
The clerk silently nodded and flounced to fill her request.   
Some still gaped at her gall - to stride in - alone in a place that   
was commonly known as Deuces territory - perplexing. Eyes - pairs   
and pairs of eyes - blinding her to the very core - a certain gaze.   
From her immediate glances, she could feel the hatred glaring at her   
entire existence. Maggie inclined her head slightly to the left -   
Bobby Esther.   
  
"What the fuck are you doing here?"   
  
The first thought she had to aide her defense was to counter   
with, what the hell does it look like I am doing? No - that would not   
do - Maggie had to stay quiet - a wallflower. She would never do anything   
to incite anyone - at least not intentionally. Then, she felt Bobby grab   
onto her wrist - the bag was half-full.   
  
"Did you hear me? Get the hell out of her!"  
  
She wrenched her arm from his clammy grasp - goose flesh   
prickled and sent trembles of chills all over her body. Leon stood   
and pulled his brother backwards from the fragile girl, who cowered   
in the presence of the enemies. The clerk slid the bag of candy   
across the table - the sound seemingly deafening sound to her ears.   
As she pulled the dollar from her purse, Leon slid into the seat beside   
her. The clerk took the bill from her and dropped a few pennies on the   
counter top. Maggie scooped the change up in one swoop and almost turned.   
  
"Get her a ginger ale,"   
  
A few intakes of breath were loudly expressed, including   
hers. Shock - unpolluted shock rocked the walls - their minds.   
The ginger ale sounded extremely loud as the clerk placed it on   
the counter. Maggie, momentarily stood - dumb-founded - she had   
not spoken to Leon in three years or more, yet now, here they were.   
  
"Sit down," he told her, as if sitting were the only obvious thing to do.   
  
Her legs, she felt, were about to buckle - she sat next to him.   
The ale bubbled and she sipped it - taste, there was not any - dull and   
lifeless - tasteless. The brown bag of candy sat unattended - silently   
by itself - alone.   
  
"Those for him?"  
  
Maggie grimaced; him registered in her mind swiftly.   
She nodded slightly - Maggie wanted nothing more than to go home.   
Leon turned, directing his full attention on her. She drank more   
of the unsavory elixir.   
  
"Why do you stay? It would be so simple to leave . . . "  
  
"You mean to run?"   
  
"No, I mean to leave - go away from here - from him,"   
  
Maggie met his eyes, and then hastily looked away. Standing   
up, she grabbed the bag and turned toward the door. She knew - she   
somehow knew that what Leon had to say was not to be of pleasantries,   
but of his displeasure with her associations. Though, that word would   
be the last thing that she or, any other person would use.   
  
"Thanks for the ale,"   
  
  
  
Maggie glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall. She could   
understand well enough that time consisting of twelve numbers and to   
hands could not be the meaning to existence, yet it held so much vitality.   
Only two minutes would tick by each time she looked back to the face. She   
did not know exactly how to greet Marco. Was she to stand, sit, or lounge   
on the bed? The most simplistic thing to do was to fix him what he liked -   
what he longed for. Indeed, in his coming home, Maggie made sure that he   
would have everything he had been deprived of for three years.   
  
The slamming of a car door and the immediate driving away   
sent her chills that existed in fierceness. Maggie fidgeted and   
straightened her dress. The dress - she had not thought of that.   
Searching from the depths of her memory bank - he still favoured   
black, didn't he? And her hair - which way did he like it best -   
down, up, or was there a twist? Nothing registered in her cogitation,   
save for the footsteps walking up the stairs.   
  
Then, the door was undone and he was there. Irritated,   
Marco Vendetti closed the door. At once the odour of cigarettes   
glided through the aroma of freshly cooked morsels - entering every   
cleft of the kitchen. The reflection that she should stand came to   
her. So, Maggie slowly rose on shaky legs and went to him.   
  
Maggie stopped shortly of embracing his body - she felt the   
inclination to ask him if it would be okay. Her gaze lingered on the   
floor as she felt his eyes trace over her. She closed her eyes tightly -   
praying that there would not be any comment of imperfection. Subsequently,   
the thought was obliterated when Marco strode past her, dispassiontingly,   
unbuttoning his leather shirt.   
  
She sighed profoundly - of relief pierced her thoughts and   
disappointment. Maggie took his shirt and clasped it softly, like   
a mother would an infant - she held it. She walked to the living   
room and placed it on a chair, folding it first - allowing the musty   
smell of dead animal flesh and smoke to seep into her awareness.   
  
Timidly - her head downcast, she unhurriedly made her way back   
to the kitchen - back to him. Marco had already begun eating, but   
suddenly her appetite fled. Maggie switched her weight onto her   
left foot, strolling to the refrigerator. She enwrapped her pallid,   
petite fingers around a bottle - frigidly dead, it sent a new wave of   
chills to her, silencing the others that had never quite left. She   
uncapped the bottle of beer and sat it before him - he instantly took   
up the container and drank a extended mouthful.   
  
The table, small as it was, seemed outsized enough for a   
feast. Maggie sat across from Marco, marveling at his hands.   
They were lengthy, she finally decided - lengthy, knowing, and . . .   
Cutting, selecting the food - devouring it, then, speedily. Then,   
she wondered how many people he had killed with those enchanting hands -   
how many souls had he stolen like a thief in the night? Surely,   
though the numbers were great - this she knew - no amount could   
grant him on of his own.   
  
His eyes had not left her - since he had sat down, her image   
graced his vision. And, he took notice promptly how she dared not   
even once to gaze directly at him. He knew from the very first time   
that he saw her, she feared him - he terrorized her to the very medial   
of her own existence, and even then she did all he wanted - all she   
longed for was to please him - for him to approve. This gave him an   
unmentionable amount of power and confidence, a great amount that made   
him feel invincible.   
  
Maggie trembled in knives of anticipation - for him to move -   
to speak. The fork and knife clattered onto the plate, she jerked her   
head to the floor to his hands once more. Marco lit a cigarette and   
took a drink from the bottle. The smoke filtered its way toward her   
and she breathed deeply. Maggie placed her hands down upon the table,   
reveling in the feel of the smoothed wood.   
  
"What? You not gonna' eat anything?" his voice swept over her as   
mist does a harbour.   
  
She jumped almost and realized that it was a question and not a   
contradiction. How wonderfully sweet it could have been if she could of   
allowed her defenses to part - but she could not do that - not with him.   
Maggie shook her head slowly, keeping the silence prolonged for as long   
as possible. Because the blanket of time was favoured to whatever he   
could possibly say. Marco slammed his hands down on the table - the   
silverware, plates, and bottle of beer shook with shame. She winced   
with terror and finally her eyes flickered to his for a moment. He   
threw a fork at her, it bounced off her chest and clattered to floor.   
  
"Hey, fucking close-mouth! Look at me!"  
  
Maggie looked up, dropping her hands to her lap - surprised   
to find that his face was not completely lit with anger. They held   
each other's gaze for a lenghthly amount of time. Then, he gave a   
half-grin, which only led to her offering a full smile that lightened   
her heart. He stood up, suddenly, knocking over the empty bottle   
accidentally.   
  
This time she froze as he walked toward her. His body was   
terribly close to her - she thought of the first time he had ever   
touched her. His skin was rough, but she never grew tired of the   
ill feeling. Time and time again she would allow him to grab her   
- around the waist - hips that fit so increadibly snugly against   
his waist that she felt at times that they were meant for each other.   
Marco kneeled down, laying one hand on her upper thigh, the other on   
her waist. Goose flesh ran up her entire body - late at nights she   
fantasied that he would come in through the bedroom and leave her   
being racked with these tiny bumps as well as pleasurable pain.   
  
"I read all those sweet letters you sent me," he said, stroking her   
leg, "they gave me something to wait for."   
  
"Why wouldn't . . ."  
  
Maggie trailed off, gazing down upon this demon that threatened   
her entire mentality. He merely stared back, eyes ablaze with lust and   
passionate abhorrance. Marco adjusted his body and kissed her wrist,   
trailing wet kisses up to her arm - the cigarette smoking on the table   
in the ash tray realizing it would never be finished.   
  
"Why wouldn't what?" he asked, through nibble of her soft flesh.   
  
She moved her free arm, stroking, feeling the tangible   
skin that called out to her own. He was warm - fire erupted   
over his body as her coolness washed over him in waves. The   
diction shared between them could be words of spite - hateful   
language - spitefulness - it would all lead to the same place   
as it always did.   
  
"Why wouldn't you let me come to see you, Marco? All you had to   
do was ask - give one word and I would have walked over the oceans   
to be with you,"   
  
"If you had walked your sweet ass into that fucking cage, the   
bars or screens couldn't have held me back from fucking you   
right ther - on the floor, the counter - anywhere,"   
  
He stood up, clasping her hand as he went to his feet.   
He jerked her to her feet and held her tightly, painfully against   
his body. Marco forced his lips upon her, running his hands over   
her hips and breasts. He inclined his head toward the bedroom.   
  
"Come on," 


	2. Chaptre 2

She was dreaming - Maggie knew she was dreaming; only a reverie   
could hold such deadly accuracy to such a night of dread. Yet, this   
dream was a recollection of the dark hours that should not have been.   
The foreboding atmosphere in the sky struck her heart, but it had begun   
as an ordinary one - she, or no one could have ever know how that day would end.   
  
Maggie sat in the back of Jimmy Pockets' car, waiting for Marco,  
who reveled in making people wait for him as long as possible. Why she   
had to accompany Marco and Jimmy, which Marco suddenly jumped up and   
announced that they were going - but why she had to go, was well beyond   
her. A droning tune, that bored Maggie to tear, played stridently.   
She dropped her head into her hands, sighing heavily.   
  
"Turn it off - please - I'm dying over here,"   
  
Jimmy acknowledged her existence, through tremours of highness -   
he heard her. Any other day he would be too drunk or stoned to even know   
what a car was, now he felt in control - powerful. He snaked his hand to   
the knob on the radio, turning it even louder. It took a moment for her   
to realize what he had just done. His hand moving had given her the   
inclination that he would follow her polite instruction.   
  
Maggie groaned, but he audibleness was lost over the new song coming   
on. She wanted to slap him in the back of his head. It would be so easy,   
she thought; just smack him one time - that's all it would take. He's so   
screwed in the head; I could knock him out with a feather. She scoffed,   
just as Marco leaned on the car and slapped Jimmy. Flesh hitting flesh   
sounded fresh to her ears - a slight revelry occurred.   
  
"Don't be a fuckin' prick - do what she said," Marco commanded.   
  
Jimmy held the area where Marco had hit him - there was pain,   
a tiny bit, but then again he really did not care. Marco climbed in   
the backseat with Maggie, holding his left pocket of his shirt. She   
gazed at his hand, even when he sat down beside; he rested it there   
continually. Maggie caught his eye, held it - he reached inside his   
pocket. Jimmy started the car once more, idly rubbing the tendre   
flesh that would be bruised by tomorrow.   
  
It was obvious she was curious, this Marco knew, but he was not   
going to give it to her at this moment - not with Jimmy in the car. The   
object was simple in its own self, he thought briefly that it could be   
considred a gift reflecting his "affection" toward her. He, even had   
to scoff at that, which Maggie glanced at him quickly - strange how he   
actually made a noise. Usually, he was silent - silent and calculating.   
How she loathed that he would become as blankets of snow are. Maggie   
would much prefer him criticizing her, as he often did - cursing at her   
in a rage, than the silence.   
  
  
  
The clouds blotted out the moone - thundre rolled in the   
midst of silvre bolts bursting through the sky. Maggie Maloney   
sat in the mastre bedroom of Jimmy Pockets' apartment. She leaned   
closer to the window, the frigid glass bringing her a sense of relief   
and tranquility. Now she was beginning to become tired - exhaustion   
crept upon her as a tiger would its prey. She felt her head fall   
forward and hit the glass - she awoke fully at the sound of the door   
opening. From the mirror, she saw the reflection of Marco.   
  
Turning around, she gazed as he stalked in. His expression was blank -   
most of the times either blank or angry - occasionally a smirk graced his countenance.   
Maggie felt as if all of her breath was being sucked out of her lungs: he knelt before   
her on both knees. Nevre in all her life had she seen Marco Vendetti bow to anyone -   
nevre. His hands played almost hesitantly upon her lap - she could feel his   
warmth through her clothing.   
  
She could not look him in the eyes, not now anyway. Intensity reigned   
completely with a marble commandment in his orbs. There was something she could   
not quite place - he was. . . anxious? Maggie shook her head, timidly - a look   
split second of confusement on Marco's behalf. He trailed his right hand from   
her lap to her face - he stroked her cheek, then dancing his fingres through her   
hair. Maggie smiled contentedly, only it lasted for mere seconds.   
  
Marco, in one swift movement, snuck his hand to the back of her   
head and grabbed a handful of hair. It did not hurt - not exceeding anyhow   
- but it pricked her heart to know that this was how much he respected her.   
Insanity pressed upon his very mind - actions - it spilled onto Maggie in   
endless waves. He ran his tongue over her lips slowly, bottom to top -   
it was as a strange action of affection - but none-the-less it was his   
own way of bestowing adorrance. His face so entirely close, she could   
smell the cigarettes and beer - his breath warm - comforting in some   
deranged way to her.   
  
"You love me, don't you?" he asked, as if asking if she had betrayed him somehow.   
  
Maggie thought to hesitate purposely - she could nevre tell him   
straight out that she loved him. She knew he did not love her: she was   
the only one who would stay, and be completely faithful to - as well as   
nevre "knark" on him. He loosened his grip on her hair, smoothed it over   
with his now gentle touch.   
  
"Yes,"  
  
She closed her eyes as not to see his expression, yet she could feel   
the grin of satisfaction on his face. A glow radiate off of him and jumped   
into her body. All Maggie could think is that, he would mock her in a few   
moments. She waited - anticipated - it did not come - nor would it ever.   
There was something else though, something caused her great distress.   
  
"I want to hear you say it,"   
  
"What?" the only word that would flow from her lips.   
  
She spoke in a whisper, not just because she did not want Jimmy to   
hear, but her heart and soul was timid. A flash of rage passed in his eyes   
- she could see it. He wanted her to obey immediately - he wanted to be the   
mastre and her the slave. This she did not have a problem with: a mastre and   
slave relationship is simple - one tells the other what to do, when to do it,   
and how to do it; but when the mastre asks the slave to tell them terms of   
endearment - it upsets the balance.   
  
"I love you,"   
  
"And, you'd do anything for me, right?"   
  
"Anything, Marco, anything,"   
  
Maggie felt Marco run his fingers over her eyelids - she opened   
them when her fingertips had passed. A brief smile invited her to be   
open - defenseless. She gave him a soft, coy look - that was another   
reason he kept her around - her meekness. That is how he preferred her   
being - a mind she had, that he knew since they had grown up together -   
but he was content when she did not express her every thought and belief   
as most people do.   
  
"You have to make a deal for me,"  
  
She almost said 'what' again - not quite. A deal - a deal -   
Maggie knew what that meant. Once she had asked him if he did all the   
things she had heard - his rebuttal was to ask her who she had been   
talking to? She attempted to tip-toe around who had actually confronted   
her about what he had done and did, but he knew all along that it was Leon.   
They had all been friends once - when they were youngre, so much youngre.   
They had gone through all of school together - they could not be seperated.   
  
But, at one point, Leon and Marco disagreed about how money should   
be earned. It was no huge secret that Leon and his gang dove into a few   
things that were illegal, but still, it was nothing big. When Marco wanted   
to sell, though, that is when Leon broke off any connections with him - they   
were hence forth enemies.   
  
Maggie was in the middle, though, she always was. They were the   
guys - the men - she was just a girl, and to them, that is all she would   
ever be. Some things, they would include her in, but there was just some   
of those things that they could not bring her into. At first, she was their   
sistre - they protected her from the "big badness" in the world. Latre, when   
they were in high school, she expressed her love for Leon. Needless to say,   
he was completely and utterly shocked. He loved her - but if she had "only   
tolde me soonre." Leon's heart belonged to Betsy - she was who he loved.   
  
And, what could Maggie do - broken-hearted - maimed and being tortured   
with the first hearache she had ever been subject to. There was Marco, standing   
in the shadows of the night - waiting to console her. She could not believe that   
he had cared so much as to wait for her outside her apartment - to see if she   
needed anything. It was simple, really: Marco give her something that Leon   
would not. She loved him, as well, though maybe not as depthful, but Marco   
had demon's countenance - feathered fingres.   
  
"Why can't Jimmy do it?"   
  
"We can't do it," he answered - she should have known the answer.   
  
"But - but, why?" Maggie pressed.   
  
Marco inclined his head - he dis-like this inquiry. And, also a   
little amused - she sounded interested, not in doing what he was asking,   
but interested in why he could not do something himself. He thrived on   
trying to make himself appear self-sufficient - completely in control of   
things - anything. He hesitated in what to tell her - a lie could so   
easily slip past his lips, but the truth - that was something he wanted   
to explain to her. When once she asked him if he sold drugs - he tolde   
her no - then do you believe me - I believe anything that comes out of   
your mouth.   
  
"I was informed that my presence was not wanted, and that   
I could no longre proceed in making money,"   
  
"That's what Allie was doing up here the other day? Isn't it?"  
  
"All you have to do is give him the fix,"   
  
"I want to know why I have to do it?"  
  
"Look, it's fucking simple, just give him the. . ."  
  
"If it's so simple, you do it,"  
  
Maggie turned to look in the mirror, but she averted her gaze   
so that Marco's being would not be seen - acknowleged. She felt his   
body tense - instantly she regretted what she had tolde him. He   
grabbed her shoulders, violently pulling from the chair she had   
lingred on. He dragged her short frame to the bed and threw her   
on it - she fell on her side - lay still, silent. He quickly slammed   
the door and locked it - turned the light out. Turning to gaze at where   
he thought her figure should be, he considred the possibility that she   
would appear as a beaten dog.   
  
He walked to the bed and pulled Maggie into a sitting postion   
- shook her once so that she would be fully awake. Maggie felt a sting   
in her shouldres where he had grabbed her - warmth and dismay filtered   
its way to her brain. Marco felt a nagging thought to hit her - he had   
before, but he refrained from doing so, he wanted to attempt to be gentle   
tonight - with words and actions. Maggie's voice cut through the shadow,   
like a knife through buttre.   
  
"Since when did you start following ordres from Leon?"   
  
Marco embraced Maggie - he felt her entire being stiffen   
and took the advantage to lay her down, her back to him. He kept   
his arms enwrapped around her - he could hear her every breath -   
short and anxious. He kissed her neck gently and rubbed the flesh   
he had just maimed.   
  
"He tolde me and Jimmy to stop - but someone else could do it,"   
  
"Then he would hate me for all eternity,"   
  
"He all ready does,"   
  
She turned her head swiftly to try look at him - it was pointless,   
too dark and colde. Maggie had to know - what had she done - nothing   
personally to him, not that she could remembre anyhow. She sensed a   
joyousness in Marco's voice as he informed her that Leon loathed here.   
It made her ill to think that her once best friend held something so   
opposite from what they had been. Jealousy, as olde as the world itself   
- that is all Marco could inhabit.   
  
"For being here with me, Maggie. He kicked you to the side for   
that fucking whore, and he still wanted you at his feet like a   
fucking lap dog,"   
  
Maggie thought - what Marco was saying was probably a lie, but   
if there was any truth to what he spoke, she could have died. Tears   
leaked out of her eyes - silent and warm - onto Marco - he felt the   
salty liquid and smiled sadistically. She hated Leon on now - or at   
lest did not trust him.   
  
"Leon won't find out about it, will he?"   
  
"He won't even know it was you - we can blame it on Jimmy,"   
  
"Okay,"   
  
"You'll do it, then?"   
  
"Yes, Marco - anything you ask of me,"   
  
He tightened his holde on her - Marco nevre wanted to leave   
this postion. He held everything now - money - Maggie - and the fear   
and respect of others. This was what life was about, he mused: getting   
the things one wanted and sticking it to others as much as one could.   
He would have he vegeance - completely. In the dark - in the midst of   
the shadows - Marco Vendetti smiled.   
  
  
  
Maggie opened her eyes and sat up- she blinked away tears. The dream,   
so increadibly real - what she could not remembre in her banks, came to her   
while she slumbred. Why could she have not just walked away? She turned to   
view Marco - the light adourned his body, while the blankets covered his lithe   
form. In his position he was facing her, sleeping yes, but a menacing look   
alighted upon his countenance.   
  
She cringed as she lay back down, looking at him. Maggie prayed   
that her sleep-disturbances did not wake him. That is what he wanted,   
right - beer, food, sex, and sleep? In his point of vies, she supposed,   
that was all that mattred to a man like him. She wanted so much more -   
she wanted somone. . . Maggie would not go to those crevices of her mind -   
she could not go. Maggie closed her eyes an breathed deeply - dreamless   
sleep would have to come to her - it would just have to.   
  
Marco slowly opend his eyes. He had been awake for a while now.   
Since, Maggie had screamed out Leon's name in her slumbre, did he awake.   
His first thoughts when he heard his name upon his lips was that he had   
come for revenge. But, then he saw Maggie, her head awhirl and breath   
raggid. He had listened closely - it was the night he had her do what   
he had done for years. He did not regret, not in the least - she was   
his in his mindset - his to have as well as to control.   
  
He closed his eyes once more, drifting off with indifference.   
So, Maggie and Marco lay facing each other in the chilled night. They   
were dementingly perfect - love existed to a certain extent - a certain.   
Somewhere, Maggie thought, there was some people in the world, a man and   
a woman, doing the exact same thing they were. Laying in the same bed,   
sleeping - drifting into the wondres of dreams. 


End file.
